I was looking through old holiday photos a few days ago and came across one that was particularly difficult to see. In it, as you can probably tell, I look quite unwell. I’m also speaking to a man with a snake – do not ask me why. What I remember clearly from that moment, and what I can still feel resurfacing now, is that there was a tanned woman next to me who was toned and slim, and I compared myself to her. I thought to myself, why, despite the weight I had lost, did I not look like her? It’s clear now that I was actually smaller than her and that she simply had a different body type, but as we know, comparison is the thief of joy and at that moment, I felt miserable and down. Comparing my body shape was something I was highly focused on then, and something I still have to be mindful of now, just not as intensely.

After an operation last year, I felt self-conscious about gaining weight. That, combined with medication I’m on, has, I believe, contributed to some weight gain. I also no longer restrict myself in the way I used to and in doing so, I feel much happier without punishing myself. More recently, I’ve been trying to approach weight loss in a healthier, more balanced way which has been a better way to get stronger and fitter.

With two weddings and extreme tiredness taking hold, it’s been a week since I’ve exercised properly or eaten as healthily as I usually would. As my mind tends to do, I’ve started to feel anxious about this. I’ve also felt a little low and have eaten chocolate to comfort myself. That isn’t a bad thing, and it’s clearly what my body has needed at the time, so I’m trying to lean on what I’ve learned in therapy, as well as the tools I’ve gained through travelling, to pull myself out of this slump and feel better again.

Over a decade on, I’ve realised that triggers, hormones, weather changes, and tiredness can all bring back old feelings and beliefs about myself. But I am grateful that now, as a 32-year-old woman, I can acknowledge these feelings, let them pass, and know I no longer act on them in the way I once did. Ultimately, I don’t think recovery, progress, or whatever you choose to call it is linear. It can be months or even years of feeling steady, followed by moments where you stumble, and then find your feet again. And that’s okay. I’ve come a long way, and I will continue to move forward.

If you’re struggling, please contact your GP or Beat.